There Is Someone
by Lucifer's Garden
Summary: Jo attempts, in her own fashion, to tell Dean how she feels. The only problem is that Dean is a little slow on the uptake. DeanJo oneshot


**Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke, its esteemed creator. **As he refuses to sign over Dean's ownership to me, I suppose it will have to stay that way. Anyway, this is a little one shot Dean/Jo scene that popped into my head a while ago. These two are ridiculously fun to write. There's no real reason why it's rated T, I just like it there. Enjoy!

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_**There is Someone**_

On any other night, the Roadhouse would be closed by this hour. But Jo was expecting him, so he didn't have to break his way in at two in the morning. There was even a light on at the bar, the only one in the entire building.

All the same, Dean flinched when the bells overhead tinkled to announce his presence. He quickly shut the door behind him and hoped that the bar's matron was sleeping soundly.

"You don't need to tip-toe around," an amused voice called to his left. "Mom's out of town for a few days."

"Think she'd mind you inviting some guy over, alone and unsupervised?" he asked, grinning at the skinny blonde scanning the jukebox. She smirked at him over her shoulder.

"Yes, but you're not exactly 'some guy', are you? How many times have you saved my life?" she asked, selecting some twangy country song. Dean grimaced.

"Jo, you're a cool chick, but your taste in music is seriously lacking," he told her, hanging up his jacket.

"What's wrong with Martina McBride?" she demanded.

"Is _that_ who this is?" he spluttered. "Come on. You gotta have some Led Zeppelin in there."

She rolled her eyes, but compliantly began flipping through the jukebox's song list. "Fine. It's only _my_ bar and _my_ jukebox, after all," she grumbled.

"Correction," he informed as he sat down. "It's your mom's bar. You are just the pretty bar wench who serves me drinks. Speaking of . . ." He gestured helpfully towards the wall of liquor bottles behind the counter.

Jo shook her head in mock despair, but moved to get out the whiskey bottle and two shot glasses anyway. "Now I remember why I never invite you over," she sighed.

"Hey, I'm a paying customer." he protested, pouring himself a shot. He slid the bottle towards her. "Where else am I going to find an open bar at two in the morning?"

"Well, I was a _little_ surprised to get your call," Jo admitted, throwing back her drink with as much practice and ease as her companion. "What exactly prompted this little drop in?"

"Couldn't sleep," he shrugged. "I was bored."

"What about Sam?"

"Sleeping like a baby."

She passed the bottle back to him. "So . . . you just felt like drinking the rest of the night away?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You were awake when I called," he pointed out. "What's your excuse?"

She looked into her drink thoughtfully. "I guess I couldn't sleep either. Just got some things on my mind, is all."

"Such as?" he asked, filling his shot glass.

"Nothing major. Just . . . things."

"Hey, I'm not exactly a mind reader, here," he reminded her. "Talk to me. What else is there to do at this hour?" He noted the slight flush on her cheeks and grinned suddenly. "Oh, I get it. You've got the hots for someone."

"What?" she scoffed, although she refused to meet his gaze. "Don't be ridiculous."

"He must be really something, keeping you awake in the early hours of the morning," Dean went on in that all-knowing manner of his. "What's he like?"

"Oh we are _so _not discussing this."

"Nuh-uh, you're not backing out of this. Come on, Jo, dazzle me with the details. Who's the lucky guy who managed to snag you?" he persisted, his eyes gleaming.

"Why are you so curious about this?" she asked, almost plaintively. He beamed at her.

"So there _is _someone. Damn, I'm good." She was staring at him so pointedly that he rolled his eyes and continued. "I'm curious because you seem way too . . . I dunno, _sensible_ to be hung up over some guy. He can't be that great, can he?"

Jo smiled suddenly. "You're jealous."

He blinked at her, the smug look dying instantly on his face. Clearly he hadn't been expecting the tables to turn so rapidly. "What? No! What? Hey, I'm just –"

"Relax, Dean," she laughed, cutting him off. "I'm not with anyone. Your imagination ran wild on you."

"Okay, so you're not in a relationship," he conceded, deftly catching the bottle as she slid it back towards him. "But there is definitely someone on your mind. So tell me about him."

"You're hallucinating."

"Humour me. Let's say that _hypothetically_ you're interested in someone. Tell me about the guy. How is it that he hasn't noticed the cute blonde making eyes at him?"

She gave him an odd look, a sort of half smile that looked almost sad. "Fine. Hypothetically. And I _haven't_ been making eyes at him." He nodded, feigning seriousness. "Well . . . he's a hunter. And he's not from around here."

He watched her, waiting for her to go on, but she was busy twirling her shot glass, watching the amber liquid swirling around. "What, that's it? There's got to be more to him than that. Is he good looking?"

She glanced at him out the corner of his eye. "Want me to get you his number? You could find out for yourself, since you're so interested."

"I'm serious. Tell me about him," he insisted.

"All right, yes, he's good looking. Gorgeous, even. And he knows it, which can be annoying, but he generally carries it well," she offered, smiling a little.

"You're face got all dreamy just now," he snickered. She silenced him with a look that suggested physical harm. "Sorry."

"Um, what else," she went on, frowning in thought. "He's smart. Doesn't always act like it, but he's definitely got a good head on his shoulders. Funny, most of the time. Or, at least he _thinks_ he is."

"Is he a nice guy? Does he treat you well?"

She pursed her lips a little. "It's complicated, but . . . yeah. I think he treats me all right. Sometimes he forgets that I'm an adult and that I can take care of myself. But his heart's in the right place. I know he only acts like a jerk sometimes because he cares about me and doesn't want to see me get hurt."

"Sounds like he might be into you too," Dean suggested, shoving the bottle towards her. "You sure he doesn't notice you? 'Cause he can't be too smart if he hasn't taken an interest."

Jo smiled crookedly at him as she poured another glass. "He doesn't like to get close."

"Well he needs to get his head out of his ass and look at the big picture," Dean grumbled. "I mean . . . life is short, right?"

"Right." Something about her tone sounded a little off to Dean. He peered closely at her.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she sighed, swirling her drink again. "I just wish he could hear what you're saying."

"Damn right," Dean nodded, slamming his glass down. "Well, if you ask me, the guy's an idiot for not going after you. You're cool, a total knock-out. You shouldn't have to hang around here waiting for some moron to come to his senses and give you a call. Seriously."

"Okay," Jo laughed, standing up. "I think you're done for the night."

He got to his feet slowly, swaying a little. "All right, fine. But I mean it about that guy. You deserve better, unnerstand me?"

"I'll keep that in mind," Jo replied with a firm nod, taking him by the arm and leading him upstairs to the apartment above the bar. "Come on, you can sleep in my mom's room. No way am I letting you drive back like this."

"'m not _that_ drunk," he objected, frowning as he tried to count. "Only had . . . a few shots."

"Nine," she corrected, pushing open the door to her mother's room with her foot. "It's enough for this early in the morning. And that whiskey is pretty strong."

He mumbled something incoherently and fell on the bed as soon as she got him close enough. She pulled off his shoes and watched him adjust his position to a more comfortable one.

"I'll wake you up later," she told him quietly. He grunted. She smiled a little and closed the door behind her as she left.

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Two gentle knocks on her door woke her up. She sat up with a frown, wondering when exactly she had fallen asleep. The liquor probably helped. Forgetting about the jeans she had discarded earlier, she went to the door and opened it, only to find Dean standing there with a slightly sheepish look on his face.

"Hi," she said, blinking up at him.

"Uh, hi."

"What time is it?"

"Still way too early to be awake," he replied, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly and looking down at the floor between them. "Um . . . question."

"Yes?"

"That guy you were telling me about . . ." he began, hesitantly bringing his gaze up to meet hers. "Is he also totally clueless and can't take a giant hint even when it's staring him in the face?"

Jo felt her heart skip what must have been several beats. For a second she tried to tell herself that she was just imagining things, and that Dean Winchester had _not_ just figured things out and that her secret was still safely tucked away. Her expression must have been a dead give away, because suddenly Dean was smiling. And it wasn't an obnoxious 'ha, I'm a genius' smile. It was a relieved, delighted, 'oh thank God I didn't just humiliate myself' smile. It was a happy smile.

So . . . he was _happy_ about this? The fact that she had been in love with him almost since the first day they met? The fact that the mere thought of him was enough to turn her into a partial insomniac? He wasn't rushing through some clumsy apology and explaining to her why they could only be friends. He wasn't making sleazy advances. He wasn't fearfully looking for Ellen over his shoulder.

He was _smiling_.

"Well . . ." she began softly, forming her own grin. "Obviously he's not entirely clueless."

"Guess not," Dean said, his voice a little huskier than usual.

She grabbed a handful of his shirt. "Otherwise," she continued, leading him back into her room, "he wouldn't be here."

"And what a shame that would be."

He kicked the door shut behind him just as her lips came up to meet his.


End file.
